


The Many Tales

by Angel_Trent



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Gen, Headcanon, Not Beta Read, One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Trent/pseuds/Angel_Trent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shots about the many people of Dragon Age. DA2 and DA:I inspired.</p><p>1. Of Justice And Cats<br/>2.The Freedom For The Wicked<br/>3.The Letter Home<br/>4. Battle for Ostagar<br/>5.Born of Magic<br/>6.The Whispers of the God's<br/>7. The Magister's Gratitude</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Justice And Cats

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all of you who cared to click the link. :) Once again I am trying to attempt some writing. This will be just a compilation of short stories and drabbles(sometimes very short, sometimes not) that are not really connected to each other and are born either of a quote/situation seen in a game or out of my own shenanigans. I do not use beta and I am not a native English speaker, so I apologise for some weird stuff you might see in my writing from time to time. Hopefully it is not too much. So far all the ideas I had are mostly about Anders (fangirl is a fangirl, after all) but since it will be just small one shots, it will probably include many other characters seen in the game as well. If you want to prompt me on something, go ahead, I will try my best to fulfill your request, if I can. :)
> 
> Other then that... Hope you enjoy my questionable writing and thanks for taking your time. If you have something to say - don't be shy. Constructive critisism or just fangasms about characters... I welcome all!

**Of Justice and Cats**

It was a late evening when Hawke quietly knocked on the door of Anders' clinic in Darktown. The main entrance was closed for the night but the service one, which led to the improvised quarters that the mage had made his home, was still available to those who had urgent business. Or perhaps were just longing for a company.

Hawke was the latter case. The estate was big and had so few people living in it, that it always seemed she was all alone. Even more so now that the dog, affectionately named Crapbag by Carver many years ago, was away with Aveline in the barracks, greatly enjoying himself.

There was no reply and so she just entered, hoping that Anders won't zap her arse into the Void, mistaking her for a Templar. She found herself in the small room, divided from the main 'hospital' by a rather dirty curtain with quite a disgusting flower pattern. Hawke preferred to think that the pattern choice was not voluntary. Sadly, the curtain was the only thing that could somehow tell someone who Anders was.

 _That is if he really picked that abysmal thing all by himself_ , Hawke had to remind herself.

The living space felt bare and uninhabited. A bed and a small chest where Anders kept his things. No trinkets, pictures… Nothing. Anders talked sometimes about his life before Kirkwall. Those were just sentences dropped here and there but it was giving a clear picture that he liked some baggage. That's why the room felt so gloomy. It was as if another person lived here. And in a way it was.

Hawke waved the thoughts away. She came here to spend some casual time with a friend, not to dwell on any serious matters. Problems were always there but if one wants to keep his sanity, he should let them go once in a while.

She found Anders in the main room, crouching on one knee. He had his back turned to her and thus she could not see what the mage was doing.

"Am I interrupting something utterly important?"

"Maker's breath!" he yelped and jumped up. There was a small plate on the dirty wooden floor and it was filled with while liquid. Hawke had several guesses, some of them downright dirty, some creepy. The small glass bottle in Anders' hand has 'Milk' scribbled on it with a coal and so she swallowed her picks and smiled shyly.

"Milk? That is your idea to end the hunger?"

"It's for cats. I never see much of them in Darktown. Perhaps Kirkwall is more of a dog-city." He paused and eyed a bottle in his hands and then finished with the grave voice. "Or refugees like them warm and toasty."

Hawke settled down on one of the many handmade stretchers that were standing along the walls.

"Oh? So you like cats."

"Yes. Even used to have one, his name was Ser Pounce-A-Lot. I think I've mentioned him once but you did not bother to ask."

"That must have been when we just met you. I was quite overwhelmed to just start questioning you about your pet preferences."

"Fair remark."

Anders joined Hawke on the stretcher and they eyed quietly the milk bowl. She shimmied a bit closer to him. They were still just friends, but as of recent Hawke had some complicated thoughts regarding their friendship status but she was not ready to talk about it. If Anders did notice she changed position, he did not say anything but did not move away either.

"So… Ser Pounce-A-Lot. What a name! Care to share?" she asked in a carefree voice.

"It was a gift. From The Hero of Ferelden himself. Cute red tabby with quite a personality on him. I took him everywhere… Till Grey Wardens decided it was way too immature and forced me to give him away. Justice was quite happy that day."

Hawke raised one eyebrow.

"Seems like Grey Wardens were not the only ones that disliked him."

Anders nodded and smiled sadly. It was quite strange to see him talking about his past and Hawke gave him reassuring nod, scared that the moment of peace will pass or the mage will get skittish and stop talking.

"Thing with Justice… He is… _Was_ a spirit. Cats don't like creatures from the Fade and it seems to be mutual. Back when we just met, Justice on many occasions had expressed his dissatisfaction with my cat." He rubbed his temples and frowned a bit. "And after we merged, Ser Pounce-A-Lot had trouble showing me same kind of affection he used to. But I am being a bit too dramatic. I've returned him back to the Hero, no Wardens can tell _him_ , to get rid of my cat. And Ser can play with Barkspawn, that dog is great."

"Barkspawn?"Laughed Hawke loudly. "Brilliant!" The name was hilarious. For a second she thought maybe Crapbag could use a name change. Carver was not here anymore and she was the one who had to endure curious (and on many occasions offended) stares from the people when she was taking her pet for a walk.

The sudden meowing sound made them both silent and they looked in the direction of the main entrance. Only now Hawke noticed, that Anders had tinkered with the door a bit and made a small hole at the bottom, covered with a piece of brown fabric. He took his cat-feeding business quite seriously.

Right now the fabric was pulled aside and a small muzzle of a tortoiseshell cat was poking through. The creature was scared but the heavenly smell of milk made it pull together whatever bravery it had and slowly crawl into the unknown.

Hawke checked on Anders from the corner of her eyes just to see the man stopped breathing and was glaring at the small kitten with the eyes full of love. The kind you have for your pet, that is. It makes you want to cuddle them when they don't want and clean their litter box once in a while.

Kitten started drinking and that's when everything went to the dogs. Hawke moved slightly, her hand fell asleep and she could not endure the feeling any longer. The kitten raised its head, milk still dripping from its whiskers and hissed, while slowly backing up and trembling in fear. There was also a quite significant puddle on a floor. And it was not milk.

Anders jumped up and Hawke noticed a bit too late that his eyes were glowing bright and the first blue patterns were slowly crawling up his neck onto his face.

"You insolent bag of fleas! How dare you bring filth to this place!" he boomed and before Hawke even managed to squeeze anything in he shot a pure ball of energy in animal's direction. The cat yelled and stormed out, tip of his tail smoking slightly.

"No! Come back! I am so sorry!" The light in Anders' eyes was gone and he desperately dashed after the cat.

Hawke did not know if she should laugh or cry, so she did the only thing that seemed reasonable right now: the flower-patterned curtain would finally fulfill its destiny as the only thing that could soak the cat pee. She ripped a good chunk of it and pulled sleeves up. After she was done with sanitary tasks, she carefully picked up the dish with milk and put it outside: something was telling her the cats of Darktown will not visit this place for a while.


	2. The Freedom for The Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used my canon Hawke here, she romanced Anders and spared his life(for many reasons) but I was always curious how does the 'kill Anders' cut-scene looks like if you did romance him. So I looked and... That was very anti-climatic. It is, of course, obvious that in Bioware canon Anders lives but if you make a game where a person can be killed while in romance, can't the cut-scene be a bit more... personal or something? :/ So I decided to write an one-shot about how I would like the situation to unfold. Of course it contains a lot of sappy drama (Anders, bringing you cringy sappy phrases since... well... DA2, heh)

"I will leave your … friend for you to deal with. I must return to the Gallows, meet me there as soon as you can." Orsino gave Anders a long stare and then quickly left the scene. Hawke thought he saw something in his eyes but she could not figure out what and she did not want to make false and useless guesses.

The crimson light of death in the skies had died down but she still felt her skin burning from the little flakes of ashes gracefully falling from the skies. Like a black snow it slowly started covering everything around them. None of her friends had spoken a word, they just kept looking at the man, sitting on a half-broken box and clutching hands together so hard his fingers were getting white.

Pity and compassion in Merrill's gaze – she knew the price of sacrifice too well; grim determination in Aveline's eyes – her heart was telling her to do what she thought was right but her loyalty to Hawke was forcing her to act otherwise; confusion in Varric's – he had suspected but he never thought the mage would go this far.

Hawke gestured her comrades to stay where they are, she was almost sure some of them would not mind gutting Anders right on the spot. Sad smirk crawled on her face – a fortune Fenris had joined the Templars, otherwise Anders would be dead a second after the Chantry turned into the bright vortex of light.

She slowly came towards him; Anders moved his head slightly, acknowledging her presence and returned to his previous condition.

"Anders…"

"There is nothing you can say that I hadn't already said to myself." he answered, his voice cracking down from pain and grief. She thought he would stop there but Anders took another shallow breath and continued. "I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited!"

It felt wrong standing behind his back. Hawke wanted to look at his face again, just the face as she knew there was hardly anything else left to salvage for her memory. A grim feeling of events to come was twisting and nagging inside her. She knew how this would end but she wanted to talk to him this one last time. To see if she is right, if it is _really_ the thing to do.

"I might have understood your motives if you shared with me. This could have been avoided." Hawke kneeled besides him, looking in his face and trying to catch his gaze.

Anders was so tired, it felt like a horrible weight was lifted from his shoulders but it did not bring the peace he was yearning for. The weight might have been gone but the feeling of it stayed behind, pressing even further. Somewhere deep within his inflamed and lost mind, the last remnants of former Anders knew it was a mistake. But he had gone too far, he had sacrificed too much: his happiness, his life, himself. He could not go back even if he wanted to. Even if he had any strength left. And there was none, Anders was fading away.

Hawke saw that.

"I wanted to tell you… but what… what if you stopped me? Or worse! What if you wanted to help?" his voice got a bit anxious and now it was him who was searching for something to hold onto in Hawke's face. "I couldn't let you do that."

She did not say anything and neither did any of their friends. They all watched and waited for some sort of sign. Hawke would know what kind when it appears before her. Not getting the response he was hoping for Anders continued talking. He obviously felt the need to justify his horrible doing. But not only to the people he had grown accustomed to call friends, not to Hawke, with whom he had spent so many nights. It almost seemed as if he wanted to convince himself that what he did was right. Justice and Anders were struggling within and it was exhausting for the latter.

"The world needs to see this. Then we can _all_ stop pretending the Circle is the solution. And if I pay for that with my life… then I pay. Perhaps then _Justice_ would at least be free…"

There it was, that little signal she had been waiting for. The words that came from Anders, not from the abomination he had become.

Not all the nights they had shared together were spent rolling in the blankets. Sometimes they had talked together for hours, telling each other about their youth and adventures they've had before their fates had crossed in Kirkwall. Even after all those years together Anders was still a bit reluctant to talk about himself but Hawke was a smart woman and from all his stories and comments she managed to scrape a portrait of Anders as he used to be: cheerful man with a passionate love for cats, sarcastic sense of humor… But most importantly – the man that would never commit an act or war, no matter how revolutionary its cause may be, if it endangered the lives of many innocent people.

_… If I ever ended up a Tranquil I would like my friend to put me out of the misery!..._

Anders was not a Tranquil but was his fate any better? Whatever was done to Tranquil made them an empty shells of their former selves but the shells that did not question and existed in peace. Anders was suffering; he was suffocating within, constantly pressed by Justice, loosing pieces of himself since the moment he had agreed to merge with what he thought was a good spirit from the Fade and his friend. Anders was lying. To those around him. To Hawke. Even to himself. From the moment Justice entered his body Anders had become an abomination, struggling for control every second of the day and losing the battle, slowly but surely. He wanted freedom and yet he had never been free, since the day he was born.

Hawke closed her eyes, holding tears back and reached out to a small dagger she was always carrying on her belt. She was about to do something that would never be undone and that would haunt her for the rest of her existence. But she wanted to let him rest. Anders deserved that much.

Hawke looked at the man in front of her once more and slowly stroked his cheek, his stubble scratching her palm. Anders saw the dagger and for a second a flash of light lit in his eyes, he wanted to stand up but as sudden as the surge had appeared it was gone.

"Please Hawke… Aleena." He whispered almost inaudibly and grabbed her wrist, his hand shaking slightly. "Grant me the freedom."

She landed a soft kiss first on his forehead and then on his lips.

"I will always remember you." The dagger penetrated the heart as if it was knife going through the butter. Anders gasped and started to fall forward. Hawke managed to grab him before he hit the ground, his blood pouring over her armor and her hands. It felt like blood was burning through her flesh but she did not let him go. Two more shallow gasps and his chest stopped moving. Hawke gently put him on the ground. Paused for a second and took one raven feather from his robe, carefully tucking it in the small pouch together with other dear mementos of the people long gone she carried with her.

"Orsino is waiting for us. Move, people." She said curtly and watched how the others left in the direction of the Gallows.

_…Thank you…_

Hawke turned on her heals one more time to look at now marble colored face of her former love. She could swear his lips were curled in the faint smile.

_…Rest now, Anders…_

She hurried after her companions.


	3. The Letter Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little drabble that my good friend prompted me. She wanted the opinion of Bethany/Carver about relationship between Anders and Hawke. But I also put lots of other emotional baggage in to make it... a letter (otherwise it would be a length of the fridge note). Even thought Carver was dead on my canon Hawke (Bethany was taken to the Circle) but I've found him to grow up nicely, maturity vise and so I took him for my plot bunnies.

Dear sister,

It was nice seeing you back then in Kirkwall. And though the circumstances were really grim, I was glad you're being well and years have been kind to you. I felt guilty for not joining the battle and leaving you on your own but the Warden Code dictates neutrality.

The news about Mother was not a shock to me but I had no time writing you and asking how are you doing. You would be surprised how busy the life of the Grey Warden is. Seems even with the Blight gone there is still much to do. I visit countries I'd never thought I see and meet people whose name you might have heard in whispers of awe. Right now the Order is in the state of chaos and I wish I could share, but I took the oath of silence and cannot disclose what happens within the walls of Weisshaupt Fortress. Perhaps once.

But I seem to be talking about myself, again. I can see you cringing, sister, reading all that as you recognize me way too well, don't you?

I've been thinking a lot about life during these past few years. We all lost so much, whether we want to admit it or not. Death took our Father first, forcing you, as the eldest, to start wearing the pants in the family. I would be dead in Ostagar if not for you protecting my back. Bethany… Now Mother. It pains me to think you are alone now and there is no-one but uncle Gamlen to give you the comfort only family can provide. But I really doubt uncle knows what 'providing' and 'comfort' is.

At nights, when the nightmares plague me and I cannot fall asleep I keep thinking whose fault it is. Was it me being selfish and whine you into taking me to the Deep Roads? Perhaps for once I should have thought that maybe, just maybe, the shadows I cast on myself are larger and darker then yours. Should have thought and stayed alongside Mother. How did she feel when we left her all alone, not knowing if we even return? The way she clung to me, it seems sometimes as if she felt I will never return from the Deep Roads. The letters that reached me across the seas were full of grief, their edges smudged with bitter tears. She never blamed me or you; she blamed only herself for being bad mother. Me? There was only one person I could dump everything on. And it was you. I was young and all of a sudden my life had come to an end. It did not matter that I've bought myself perhaps another fifteen years. I was only nineteen and I was stripped of the choice.

Was it your fault for not listening to the voice of reason? Were you as selfish as I was, thinking that by taking your little brother with you will appease me and make me see my elder sister in the whole different light? Or were you genuinely trying to give me the chance to step out of your shadow? Back then it was always your fault. But now, as the years go by and I am gaining perspective I am not so sure anymore.

There is one thing I want to talk to you about. In her letters Mother mentioned about your relationship with _that mage_. Something tells me that the relationship is still blooming and I beg you to be careful, sister. I remembered the way you looked at him. And the way he eyed you back… I also remember _what_ he is and I pray to the Maker so do you. I have a bad feeling about him. I had it since the moment we stepped into that Maker-forsaken clinic in Darktown. Grey Wardens… talk about him. I don't know if Anders ever told you but he knew the Hero of Ferelden quite well. In fact, he was conscripted. However he was foolish enough to allow the spirit to merge with him and thus sealing his own fate. The Wardens saw the danger of what he had become and passed him to the Chantry. He slaughtered the camp full of people and then disappeared into nothing till the Deep Roads event. While I am grateful he was with us in those dark passageways and did not allow me to succumb to the Taint, I cannot shake the feeling of uneasiness grasping my heart every time I think he might be near you. He was always a bit fanatic about the rights of mages but he never had enough power to do anything about it. The Wardens tolerated his behavior as some of them did recognize the problems with the Circles. But now, being what he is, Anders might as well finally do something. And when he does – you will all go down in flames.

I know it is not my place to dictate how you live your life. After all, when did you ever listen to me? But I beg you to reconsider. He will hurt you. Whether intentionally or not but he will. He is not a human being anymore. We had all known it from the beginning but you, so it seems, chose to ignore it. If you continue this relationship, you will be digging your grave and the graves of those you hold dear.

It takes away my peace knowing that you so carelessly throw your life away and that I cannot be near to prevent this. I ask you once again, sister, listen to your mind, not your heart and do what is right.

Love,

Carver

 

Hawke set aside the letter and rubbed her temples with a heavy sigh. The light of candle was throwing sharp shadows on her features, making the woman look even more tired and worn out. Carver had a point. In fact, he had a lot of points. She was surprised how much her little brother had matured during all this time they've been apart. But Hawke was desperately hoping that there is a way out. There was _always_ a way out. _She_ was ready to stay by Anders' side to support him. She was the only one who could leash his hate. Hawke was doing it for his sanity, for her Father and Bethany, for the people, whose lives were ruined by magic, one way or another. She has to see this through. And is she not entitled to a little bit of simple happiness in the process? Hawke nodded to her thoughts and firmly took a goose feather in her hand.

_Dear Carver…_


	4. Battle for Ostagar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of an alternative take on the battle for Ostagar, with Hawke and Carver implemented, as they were there after all. Also, apparently I really started liking Carver. He is fun to write and I like him more then Bethany anyway. I have a thing for stuck up asses XD This seems to be the biggest one-shot up to date. And I suck describing action. Oh well. You were warned ;)

They never came. Hawke kept squinting desperately into the dark, shielding her eyes from the pouring rain but not a single arrow flew from the direction where Loghain's reinforcements had to arrive from. The Tower of Ishal was burning bright, the fire painting mysterious and creepy pictorials over the heavy rain clouds. There could be no mistake, the two Wardens did their part and yet…

They were all looking up in the skies, it seemed even darkspawn had paused their relentless assault. As in some sort of ritual trance people were turning their heads to the tower and immediately behind themselves, in the direction of Ostagar. How many of them were hoping it was just a delay? But Hawke knew better. All her childhood she dreamt to be a hero. She'd made a wooden sword out of some tree branches and run around with it, pretending to be a warrior of a mighty army of the King Maric. When she got older she was spending her free time studying the history of war. And, of course, she had read all the noble deeds that Loghain and Maric had done for Ferelden. Loghain loved this land more then he loved anything else in this world. He would throw himself in the battle butt-naked if it guaranteed to save Ferelden. This could not be a simple delay; Loghain decided it to be a sacrifice for a greater good, no less. She had to find a commanding officer, to inform him of the situation and ask for orders, if there were any. Slashing darkspawn on her way and helping out her fellow soldiers Hawke ran to where she thought the commander of her unit should have been. And he was… Or what was left of him. Bloody mess of intestines and bones, no doubt the work of an ogre. Slow giants they were not many in the darkspawn horde but those few were basically unstoppable. No human would be able to take them on alone. Especially not in the dark, with the pouring rain, where you hardly could see where you were going.

"Poor bastard…" whispered Hawke, crossing the remains of her superior. "May you find peace at the Maker's side."

There was no time to waste, so she hoisted her old sword behind her back and ran ahead, where King Cailan should have been fighting.

There were always whispers in the barracks about the king. Some said he is a bit naïve. Others claimed he is a fool and it is Queen Anora who rules the land, pulling the threads attached to her husband and staying in the shadows. Hawke did not deny there was some truth to what people said. Cailan had not been king for that long and the possible Blight was his first opportunity to prove himself so he was a tad bit too enthusiastic. But he listened to his people and did not look down at anyone, valuing their opinions: a trait he, no doubt, inherited from his father.

Lighting ripped through the skies, scaring the darkness away for a brief moment. Hawke found herself on top of a small hill, overlooking what seemed an endless river of moving bodies tangled together in a fight. It was difficult to distinguish her fellow men from the filthy darkspawn but it was not what she was searching for. Before the scenery got swallowed by the darkness once again Hawke thought she saw a bright glimmering sparkle somewhere to the left of her own location. She could not be sure of anything but it did look like a shine of metal and the king was wearing quite a fancy armor for this battle. Better some sort of a lead then wandering in the dark, she thought to herself and rushed down the hill.

The number of darkspawn here was much bigger then back from where she came. Hawke had no choice but to bare her sword and join the fight, ripping her way through the fiends towards where she was hoping to find Cailan. What seemed like an eternity later, Hawke finally made it out in a small clearing.

"My Liege!" she exclaimed, stumbling towards the king, who just took care yet of another hurlock. Her sword felt heavy in her hands. Hawke was a tough woman but the battle was going on for much longer then anyone had expected and she was starting to feel worn out. All that running across the battlefield also added to her fatigue.

"King Cailan!" she called him again, attracting his attention. The king had finally turned around. He was covered in darkspawn blood and guts and yet somehow still managed to radiate the aura of royal grace and honor.

"What is it, soldier?"

"The reinforcements… The tower of Ishal is lit but Teyrn Loghain did not send his army in battle. You have to sound the retreat; there is no chance against the horde on our own!"

A palette of emotions ran across king's face and Hawke could read every single one of them. He could not believe Loghain left them all for dead. He could not understand why. He was hoping the battle still could be won…

"The retreat.. yes." He muttered and raised hand to call one of his men that were fighting nearby however the next second his eyes widened in horror as he stared at something behind Hawke's back. Everything that followed happened in the matter of seconds but Hawke could not do anything, she seemed to be paralyzed with fear. The king dashed towards her baring his sword and, as soon as he was near her, with one strong swipe he pushed Hawke out of ogre's way. She rolled in the mud and hit her head on something blunt. Later she figured out it could be a rock. Or, perhaps a dead darkspawn in a bulky armor. Whatever it was it left her dazed and unable to react on the events, which were unveiling before her eyes. Cailan managed to land several blows on the ogre but this just infuriated the creature. It roared in the blind rage and grabbed the king in its paw. Before Cailan could even release a single scream, the creature snapped him in half with one violent shake and threw the body aside, like a broken doll. But before it managed to find a new toy to play with, something, which looked like a white spot in her vision, assaulted the monster.

Still dazed Hawke stood up and groped the ground for her sword but she could not find it anywhere. There was no time, the king was dead and the spawn was pouring in from the Wilds, thinning the chance for people to escape this cursed battle. She shook her head like a dog, hoping to get rid of the noise in the ears and black spots obscuring her vision. That seemed to help slightly and also cleared her head.

_Carver._

_I've forgotten all about him and he is still out there!_

She knew it was almost impossible to find him amidst all this chaos. She just hoped she could bump into him by sheer luck. After all, all their life all of them depended on the luck.

"Comes in a package with having mages in the family", their father often joked.

And so she ran, as fast as her throbbing head and staggering legs allowed her, struggling against the storm that had finally hit ruins of Ostagar with all its strength.

"The king is dead, pass the word! Retreat! Run while you still can!" she grabbed someone on the shoulder. The person turned around and in the flashes of constant lightnings, Hawke saw a tall woman with flaming red hair. But before the female could reply Hawke rushed onwards, making her way amongst the stream of people that were now rapidly retreating in the direction of the fortress. Obviously, she was not the only one to see their leader fall on the battlefield.

_Maybe Carver was a reserve. Maybe he is still at the camp-site!_

She and her younger brother had not had a smooth and happy relationship. Carver Hawke was eighteen years old and like every youngster this age he was passing an awkward stage of angst, anger and constant denial. He hated his life, what with being related to mages and all and the flippant attitude of his elder sister towards their 'mage situation' greatly irritated him. He could not understand how, after all they had been through, Hawke still supported mages and their right freedom. The heated arguments about the matter often left Bethany and their mother in tears.

"Aleena!"

Hawke stopped at her tracks. She thought she heard someone calling her by name. She looked around but she could only see running people and hear their screams.

"Maker's breath, it _is_ you!" her brother grabbed her by the shoulders and the next moment squeezed her tight. "I was scared you were in the front lines, they got the worst of the horde… All the Wardens…"

"King Cailan is dead. I saw it myself… I think I might have killed him…" muttered Hawke, feeling tears streaming down her cheeks as she was clutching tightly on the fabric of Carver's vest.

"What kind of crap are you babbling there, sister? There's no time, we have to move." Without further ado he grabbed her hand and dragged her to the side, away from where the rest of the army headed and into the forest. Hawke trusted her brother to find the way as he was probably familiar with the terrain. At the younger age he used to leave home for several days in a row as he claimed the family was suffocating him. What he was up to during those days (apart from driving their mother insane with worries) nobody knew and Carver did not desire to share.

Hawke turned around one last time to look at the tower, the symbol of lost hope that had burned in her mind. Next moment she felt icy claws of fear griping at her heart and she opened her mouth to call Carver, who went ahead, but no sound came out.

The fire was still burning bright, giving the situation even more surreal feel. A huge dragon was descending from the skies on the tower. It seemed that the Wardens were right after all; it was the real Blight as the Archdemon had finally showed itself. Perhaps a bit too late as all the Grey Wardens were if not yet dead then soon will be.

"Maker guide us…"she whispered and dashed after Carver.

They have to run. The fifth Blight had fallen upon Ferelden.


	5. Born of Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, a Fenris-chapter. Where it all began... I love imagining and toying around with the past of people that is not really known to us.

"Hey Leto, you lazy son of a mongrel, wake up already!" someone kept prodding him constantly. The elf grunted and dug his face deeper in the pillow, shutting off the early morning light that was peaking through the window.

"Edeon, we had a deal…"

"You should know better then striking any kinds of deals with me, friend." Edeon started to pull on the blanket, letting cold air slip inside the cocoon of bed-sheets Leto had weaved during the night.

"I should know better indeed." He had finally swung his legs over the edge of an uncomfortable wooden bed and pushed the small skinny red-haired elf away. "Edeon, you are like a bug. Small, annoying and I can't get rid of you." Leto yawned widely and ran fingers through his raven-black hair, trying to bring it in a plausible state. The pest just smiled and skipped from one leg to another.

"Theresa sent us to the market. Master Ahriman has a feast later today and the cook needs fresh supplies."

Leto jumped on one leg, trying to fit another one in his pants. He was still half-asleep and this seemed to be proving itself as a difficult task. After all the struggles with the pants were finally over, he threw on a long linen shirt and his utility belt.

"Shopping. Do I look like a woman?" he grumbled what he thought was under his breath. But either Edeon had the ears of a fox or it was louder then he expected.

"A little, maybe."

"What, you have to respond to _everything_ I say?"

"Pretty much." Replied his companion airily and flung a strand of hair over the shoulder like a high-class coquette he was.

Leto, Edeon and their families all were slaves to Magister Ahriman - an influential persona in the city of Qarinus. The two men knew each other since the day they learned to walk and talk and had been inseparable ever since. Some would call them friends, even though their friendship was a strange one. Leto was an observing type. His words carried weight and stung badly when he wanted them to. He was easily irritable and spent most of his life being angry and annoyed by something. Edeon, on the other hand, was a spunky character with a happy-go-lucky attitude to life and, what seemed like an endless amount of cheer that was closely bordering with being an annoyance to everyone he ever came across. Leto and Edeon shared the room and most of the tasks assigned to them. Perhaps it was because no-one else was willing to endure the presence of a small and relatively talkative elf that, while doing his job well enough, could drive anyone mad within a short period of time.

Like that, with Edeon chirping happily and Leto pretending he was all alone and had nothing to do with the guy that was hopping and skipping somewhere behind, they passed through the spacious kitchen and into the lush green gardens. Leto spotted his sister and mother quick enough, two women were busy weeding out one of the flowerbeds. Varania looked up and waved to her brother to come closer, putting the small rake she was holding aside.

"You are up early today. Wasn't there a deal or something?"

"There was." Leto shot a sulky stare in Edeon's direction. "Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking. I worked my ass off doing _his_ chores, as we agreed, and bastard just chose to ignore it."

Varania shrugged her shoulders and gave her younger brother pitiful stare.

"You really are naïve sometimes."

"I am not naïve!" objected Leto angrily and flushed. "I just… believe in people, apparently." He had finished quietly, realizing how pathetic it sounded.

"And you should do so, son." Their mother, who was listening on their conversation had finally put away own garden instruments and approached her children. "It is difficult to believe in people sometimes as many of them will use you in their own advantage. But not all. "

"Mother, I don't need your lectures." Answered Leto aggressively, he felt like a little kid, standing there in the middle of the garden, being told how to live in the presence of his sister and his friend.

"Don't talk to mother that way!" exclaimed Varania and made an attempt to push her sibling in the chest.

"Calm down, Varania." Their mother grabbed the girl by the shoulder and pulled her backwards, to where they were both working till the moment Leto and Edeon had entered the scene.

The two men proceeded to the entrance as well, with one of them still emitting almost visible waves of anger.

"Hot thing your sister is, literary. Just look at her go! I would not mind to have a piece of that!"

Leto turned on his heels and grabbed Edeon by the collar, bringing the pest to the level of his own face.

"I will tell it one time. You talk about my sister this way – I'll beat it out of you. Repeatedly."

Edeon squinted as if he almost expected Leto to punch him in the stomach but the blow did not come.

"I thought you don't get along…"

"She is _still_ my sister." He put his companion back on the ground roughly. Edeon grunted and rubbed his neck: a collar left a red circle where it burrowed in the skin. "So there. You look at her, talk of her or think of her in a wrong way… You know you had it coming."

They had finally reached the market area. It was still early but the place was already buzzing with slaves. It was as they say – the early bird catches the worm. With the help of the fists and elbows the two men started to make their way through the crowd, occasionally stopping at the stands they needed. Leto himself had no interest in picking out the best food or beverages. He would never taste them to begin with and it all looked the same anyway. Edeon, on the other hand, lived and breathed the complicated system that was 'market'. He knew exactly what to pick, how to define whether the product was good and how to strike the best bargain. His dream was to become a chef and he was persistently, even though slowly, working on it.

Quite some time later Leto, who felt like a mule and probably looked like one as well, what with all the baskets and boxes he was carrying, dumped all the produce on the kitchen floor, at Theresa's feet. She thanked him and informed that Master Ahriman gave him the rest of the day off. The only thing he had to do was to wash himself with care as the master wished him to play the role of the doorman during the feast. Leto could not complain. The day off from the dirty chores was so rare it was almost as Maker's blessing.

"You look handsome." His mother smiled brightly readjusting a tacky bowtie that was a part of doorman's uniform her son had to wear this evening. Leto grumbled something about looking like a fool but did not comment beyond that. He probably still felt a bit guilty about snapping at his mother when she meant well. "Perhaps if you act like a nice boy someone will buy you off our master. You deserve much more then a life of a cleaner and handyman."

Once again Leto did not answer. He had a point to make but he though it would be better to not argue, for once. His mother wished him no harm, but ever since their father had passed away it was his task to look after their small family and he would not want to change masters without securing a better place for his mother and sister first.

He met Edeon on the hall; his friend was being a servant tonight and was dressed as fancy as Leto was. Though perhaps not as colorful.

 _"Because, of course, they have to see me miles away."_ He thought grimly and shook his head in disapproval.

"I can't believe I am serving today!" Exclaimed Edeon, his green cat-eyes flashing with excitement. "They may even give me some scrapings of _their_ food."

"Is it all you ever think about? Girls and food?" commented Leto dryly, while settling down at his post and throwing an occasional glance towards the entrance. Guest would have to start arriving soon and Edeon had to disappear into the kitchen before that time.

"You got me. Two best things that are even better when combined."

Leto stared at him intensively, asking himself why he is still listening to this blabbering idiot when Edeon had finally said something interesting.

"You know who is amongst the guests? Magister Danarius. They say he is pretty big news and came here all the way from Minrathous. Imagine that! I wonder why?"

"A big shot Magister in the hole like this…We should keep our ears open. Something interesting might surface."

The feast was taking a turn for the better as more food was coming and the expensive wine had loosened the tongues of the guests. Edeon and several other servants were roaming around the table, helpfully refilling the glasses and plates when it was asked of them. Leto was standing by the door almost looking like a statue of himself, listening to everything that was going on but so far it was nothing he had never heard before: blood magic, slaves and basking in own glory. This is when Danarius had suddenly stood up, a small smile playing on his lips and looked around.

"My friends, I am happy to be seeing you today in good health and state of mind. But my concern for you was not the only reason for my visit. I had discovered the means to do something glorious. Something that was done by the few and seemed to be long forgotten. I had tracked every single piece of knowledge there was, pieced it together and had come to the conclusion I will be able to create what you know as the Lyrium Ghost."

A whisper of surprise raised up in the air as none of the magisters could believe what they had just heard. And neither could Leto. He had no clue what Danarius was talking about but it sounded important and it was, looking at the reaction of other guests. He had turned all ears, trying to absorb every little piece of information that could be worth remembering. Meanwhile, Danarius continued.

"This, of course, will be the highest honor and no simple peasant can get it. I need a skilled warrior, someone who will be able to take a place besides me, as a bodyguard."

"But how are you planning to weed out the undesirables?" One of the magisters had finally come to his senses. He still looked shaken up from the announcement but the curiosity had prevailed.

"Good you ask." Danarius smiled widely. "I will hold the tournament. Similar to the one those dirty dwarves are so proud of over at Orzammar. The one who wins this 'proving' will be the one who will become the next miracle born of magic." Danarius had paused for a dramatic effect. "And my personal war hound."

Those words echoed in Leto's head long after the party, thrown by his owner, had ended. He could not fall asleep and kept trying to analyze his feelings on the matter. It was the chance, no doubt. But could he abandon his family for it? Perhaps if he talked to them… Mother would understand. Varania would not. She'd guilt him into staying and Leto was not sure her reasons would be noble. Family or not but no slave is happy when the other one gets a better treatment and a better master.

"You're going to sleep or what?" sounded from another side of their small room.

"And this is your problem because…" Leto was surprised that Edeon was not sleeping and seeing his third, no doubt dirty, dream.

"Hey, I am just saying. I was there as well; I've heard what Danarius had said." Edeon lifter his head from the pillow and put a fist underneath to support it, blowing the hair out of his face but without any success. "It seems your kind of stuff, everybody and their dog can see you were cut out for something greater then just scrubbing the floors in this hole."

"I can't leave my family here, you know that. This has ended the whole affair even before it could have begun." Leto dropped back onto the bad and angrily started mashing the pillow into the right shape. Edeon kept watching his friend in silence and was estimating if it was worth mentioning something he had overheard during the dinner. It seemed like a perfect opportunity to get away but he was not a fighter and besides he thought his life here was not all that bad. Someone like Leto, though, could grab that chance and use it well.

"Listen, I've heard something else tonight. Something that you might have missed. There is another small reward for the one who wins the tournament. A person will be granted one wish and, as long as it is not their own freedom, it will be fulfilled."

Leto, who had just settled down, jumped up again.

"You sure?"

"Yep, sure as I can be."

"It means if I win I can ask Danarius to take my family with me! Or even better, grant them their freedom."

Edeon cackled softly in the dark and started to finally settle down for the night.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, you did not win yet."

There was a long pause in which there was not a single sound coming from Leto's side of the chamber. Edeon thought that perhaps his friend had fallen asleep, exhausted by the eventful day. He was ready to get to the whole sleeping business himself, when his friend's figure had suddenly appeared in front of the window, illuminated by the soft light of the moon. He looked up to the skies, his figure nothing but a fathom in a ghostly light of the night and clutched his hands in the fists.

"But I will win. I swear to the Maker I will."


	6. The Whispers of the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Corypheus and the Architect were the first darkspawn, they were human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot collection had been sad and abandoned for way too long. *dusts it off*

He walked through the streets of Minrathous that were illuminated by dozens of torches. The city was never engulfed in the darkness. If the occasion called for it, the fires would assume different colours and even different patterns, but not today. As he entered the Red Quarter, the man pulled his hood up to hide is face in shadows. The temple of Urthemiel, the God of Beauty, lay in the heart of this place. Once the man had wondered why.

“For the beauty is in everything.” was _his_ answer.

The firm naked body of a young maiden, or an old, desease - ridden slave, wallowing in the mud… How can they ever be comparable?

“Beauty can be harsh. It can be veiled and hidden. But it is all around us.”

It was pointless to debate. After all, this is why they serve their respective gods: he, the High Priest of Dumat and _him_ , the one who carries Urthemiel’s will.  
Like a disembodied shadow, Sethius Amladaris slid around tall building, avoiding the main entrance. Day or night, the stairs were littered with people waiting to catch but a glimpse of the High Priest to bestow a favour upon them. Sethius did not like the superficial nature of many who worshipped Urthemiel. They came to ask for a beautiful spouse, for a perfect heir… Empty - headed and vain.

The backdoor was opened and, as he entered the temple, he was greeted by the familiar dimmed rooms with a fragrant smoke, floating in the air. Navigating through the hallways was easy, he had been here many times before.

“Sethius, my friend! You are as punctual as ever.”

Allerius Evangardis, the High Priest of Urthemiel emerged from the shadows, tailed by two slaves - willowy creatures with bronze skin, male and female. They were scarcely dressed and their necks were decorated with golden collars, that were attached to the chains Allerius was holding in his hand. The priest himself was wearing a robe of shimmering aquamarine - blue silk with intricate golden patterns on it. His blond hair was made in an outrageous hairdo that looked like a bird’s nest. Or perhaps a vase. Small glittering beads were woven into separate strands. Allerius’ long elegant fingers were accentuated with many, no doubt expensive, rings. He smiled softly, watching the expression of his friend’s face.

“I see you are impressed.”

“Am I not always?” answered Sethius, as he settled down in one of the armchairs near a small table and watched Allerius sending the servants for refreshments as he gracefully set down. “ _Rattus._ Again.”

“Come now, Sethius.”

The slaves in the temple of Urthemiel changed quite often. Magister Evangardis was always on the lookout for the appropriate _things_ to please his patron. Amladaris found it to be a waste. His own temple, as well as the household, had only the amount of slaves it absolutely needed. And none of them were elves - Sethius could not stand pointy-eared creatures. To him they were more disgusting then a common rat.

“Shall we play the game of chess or have you got something else on your mind I can help you with?”

Magister Amladaris shimmied in his seat uncomfortably. The tasks of the High Priest to the God of Beauty were many and he was familiar with all of them. But Allerius was like a child to him, picked and groomed for great things. Sethius had difficulty separating a boy he knew from a public figure his apprentice had become and the tasks he had to perform, albeit Magister Amladaris was very proud of his former student.

“Chess.” Amladaris mumbled finally.

The slaves came in with the wine and foreign delicacies and left just as quiet. The game had started and finally the two of them had found themself at an impasse - not an uncommon outcome for these intelectual battles of theirs. Vintage wine and a pleasent company were relaxing and were just what Amladaris needed.

“Do you ever think of the Old Gods as something more?” Allerius’ velvety voice woke Sethius up from his daydreaming.

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think there is more? Where did the Gods come from?”

Anger flashed in Magister Amladaris’ eyes. These kinds of conversations were popping around more often then he cared for. It was even discussed amongst Magisters Sidereal. He clenched his fists in frustration.

“Why are we even talking about such blasphemous nonsense, Allerius? The Gods…”

“Had been falling quiet,” was Evangardis’ answer, his beautiful elongated face showing worry. “We all feel it. Magister Dahlia says they are turning their favourable stare away from us. But do they really?”

“Stop talking.”

“I will not.” said Allerius sternly, icy - blue eyes flashing with determination. “I feel there is more. I _want_ to know more. What are they? Where are they? How can we serve them to the best of our ability? All of this is vital, Sethius. We can be _so_ much more to them if only we knew them better…”

Magister Amladaris kept frowning in disapproval. He had forgotten, that underneath the mask of a peacock was hiding a brilliant mind of a scholar. A _dangerous_ mind of a scholar. He stood up, ready to leave, boiling with anger.

“By Dumat, Allerius, you should be thankful I love you like a son! Any other, spewing this drivel in my face would end up publicly whipped on the main square.”  
As he turned and started walking away, Evangardis reached out and grabbed Sethius’s arm, making Amladris turn and gaze at his friend, whose face looked troubled.

“Urthemiel fell silent.”

_Yet another God turns a deaf ear._

He unclenched Allerius’s fingers and proceded to walk away. As the door was closing behind him, he still felt Magister Evangardis’ stare on his back. The words that came after sounded like a condemnation.

“Only Dumat is left.”


	7. The Magister's Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered about Samson's fashion choices?

The hall had been illuminted by bright torches that were grimly reflecting in the red lyrium crystals that were lovingly positioned by Samson’s men in some sort of morbid stone garden fashion. There were three of them present. Lady Calpernia, leader of the Venatori faction, Samson, the dreadful (in more ways then one) Red Templar General and Erimond, who was… A nobody really. Some speculated he had invited himself. Dutches Florianne was supposed to attend too but was held up by urgent matters. Such as not willing to go Maker knows where and spoil her fancy shoes.

Calpernia sat down as far from anyone, as was possible, stewing quietly in her own irritation, clueless as to why she had to share the room with any of these idiots. Samson sat right in the middle of the front row, and constantly held a handkerchief to his nose. No doubt another attempt at snorting red lyrium gone awry. As to Erimond, he could not sit still and kept looking over his shoulder while rocking his chair back and forth. Sometimes he’d spark a flame at the top of his palm and, obviously, felt very important.

The awkward silence, disturbed only by Samson’s loud sniffling, suddenly got interrupted by a burst of red-tinted smoke in the middle of an improvised stage. As everyone turned their gazes upwards, they saw Corypheus, with an unfamiliar expression on his face. Calpernia fugured that he either had a stomach ulcer or he was smiling. Both of these theories were close to improbable.

“My faithful few,"Corypheus started, looking over rather empty audience. "We are gathered here today for a truly grand occasion. The Tevinter of Old was many things but about all it favoured the brave and the loyal. And here you are.”  
Calpernia side-eyed Erimond, who was all but pissing himself from the joy of being called brave and loyal. As brave as loyal as a flea-ridden mutt in the kennels. Smelled as one too.

“Let me make this clear, few in my time got such a favour and only one of you is truly deserving on this magnificent gift I will bestow upon you.”  
Calpernia blinked. Then squinted. No, she was not mistaken - in the outstretched hand of the Elder One were a pair of long black and white striped stockings.

“One of you went far and beyond any expectation that was placed upon them. They strived for ultimate result, brutal and resourceful as ever. And they were there, from the very beginning when I most needed them.”  
Calpernia watched both men in the audience as a hawke and while Erimond’s stupid face stayed puzzled and clueless, Samson got even more paler and his eyes shot wide open.

“Samson, my Red Templar General. Rise.”

The ex-templar stood up, his legs trembling slightly and proceded towards the stage. As he had finally joined Corypheus, Calpernia heard and angry wheezing from behind - Erimond was watching Samson as a hyeena watches a wounded lion. Obviously he thought the Socks of Friendship, as Calpernia named them,were going to an undeserving owner. 

“Accept this as a token of my appreciation. Wear them with pride and know, that only few of Dumat’s chosen could attest to the same. And also,” Corypheus bowed slightly forward, placing one long claw under Samson’s chin. “I thank you for being there in Kirkwall. The flesh had yearned and you delivered.”

A gust of smoke had enveloped the creature and he was gone, leaving Samson on the stage, holding a pair of striped stockings and looking sick to his stomach.  
The, now painful, silence got suddenly interrupted by laughter so sincere it was almost contagious. Calpernia had not laughed like that in a long time, tears of pure joy streaming down her cheeks. She stood up and left, her silvery laughter still bouncing off the walls and right into Samson’s tarnished ego.


End file.
